Ice Cream Sunday

I was invited to tell stories in Ashland, Kentucky yesterday.  It was great to sneak into Appalachia through a side door as I drove from home to that corner of Kentucky.  Two performers were scheduled to be at this event (which originally was an outside event but rain pushed it inside and it was still great) but the other performer called and cancelled the morning of the event!  He was a magician, not a storyteller.  I suspect they have marked him off their list.

They asked if I could tell stories for two groups instead of one big group and I was happy to help.  They divided things in half, sent the first group of 50 or so into the room with me and we had a great time as Finn McCool strode into their imaginations.  Since it was their Ice Cream Sunday every child had drumsticks, ice cream sandwiches or popcicles in hand.

The second group came upstairs after visiting with the face painter and doing crafts and settled in... over 50 kids again!  Bear stories for this group, including "Why Bear has a stubby tail".  Ice cram for all!

Yes, I stepped up to the plate and did double duty!  I faced 100 ice cream stuffed kids with my big red bandana as a prop and we all had a great time.

I just love my job!

Twain on W.P. Snyder Jr. Riverboat

A Wonderment in a Hive

There is something very spiritual for me as I work with my honey bees.  Perhaps because I have to move slow, work carefully and am alone in the midst of several hundred thousand bees.  Though It is hot in my bee suit, I a still a rookie, a "New-bee" if you will.  I often don't wear gloves, or just a pair of nitrite "surgical" gloves when I am just feeding them this time of year.  When there is little nectar - hot weather will dry nectar out in the flowers, feeding the bees will help them prepare well for winter.

As I move slowly from hive to hive, I marvel at how they have grown the hive.  Just one queen, laying up to 1,500 eggs a day takes a spring hive from 3,000 to 5,000 bees up to 50,000 or 60,000 mid summer.  Remember, each bee lives about 6 weeks after they emerge from their capped cell.  By winter the queen will slow down egg production and begin laying eggs that will become "fat" bees that can survive longer and care for her during a harsh winter.  These bees can lives months instead of weeks.  (yes, the queen can love several years)

I lift frames of comb to the sky and look closely, seeing tiny eggs, larvae and uncapped pupae as the sun glows through the drawn comb.  Here and there capped brood can be found... pupae in their last stage of development, their cell covered with wax as they contemplate for a few days before emerging.

All over I see the miracle that God made when he created these insects.  The newly emerged bees wobble a bit and are lighter in color than older bees.  House bees, all usually less than 3 weeks old care for eggs, larvae and pupae.  The foraging bees, all usually older than 3 weeks old, come and go, pollen baskets on their rear legs laden with pollen of all colors.

It is a wonderment, a miracle, a God inspired design that sings to me as I work.  I don't often smoke them, I find if I work slowly they are little bothered by my cautious care.




 Stephen Hollen is an award winning storyteller, humorist and Mark Twain Impersonator living in Beavercreek, Ohio.  He performs and tells stories in Ohio, Kentucky, Indiana, Tennessee, West Virginia, Michigan and throughout the USA. 

Photo Mark Twain 2

Photo Mark Twain

 

 Stephen Hollen is an award winning storyteller, humorist and Mark Twain Impersonator living in Beavercreek, Ohio.  He performs and tells stories in Ohio, Kentucky, Indiana, Tennessee, West Virginia, Michigan and throughout the USA. 

Celebration of a Quiet Life

Go with me to the mountains, deep in the mountains, the hills and hollers of Eastern Kentucky.  I'll take you there, to a holler with a creek runnin' through called Flat Creek.  Look around with me and find the highest place.  Though these old mountains were worn before men ever walked the hills, help me find the highest one.  Please be patient and climb that hill along side me.  Come on, I'll take you there.

Stand quiet now.  Breath in deep and smell the honeysuckle, the cedar and pine.  Breathe deep again and catch the thick sweet smell of sourwood bloomin' down below.  When the wind blows up the hill just right the fragrance is so amazin'.  Listen and you can hear the honeybees workin' the sourwood blossoms.

Look around, look down into the hollers at the old rugged cabins, so many deserted now.  Close your eyes and go back with me, nearly 87 years.  Come with me, I'll take you there.  Down yonder, just there, the cabin is gone now, but back then, a simple log cabin stood there, just a plain ol' mountain cabin with a dirt floor was there in that clear spot, there, just there, do you see?

The youngin's have been sent down the road to Aunt Dellie's for a while.  The midwife came just a while ago on an old red mule.  Grandpa Steve Hollen brushes down the old mule just to have something.  Till there comes a cry...

As I close my eyes, I imagine it was something like that, when my Daddy was born.  No one noticed much, beside family.  He was never a rich man, never bragged on himself, never made headlines.  He lived a simple and quiet life.

Today, seven years after his passin', I celebrate his quiet life.  In so many ways I am not like him, can never fill his shoes, but I am so much of him.  So much of who I am is due to that quiet life.

He wasn't able to finish school... went to war instead.  Sailor, Seabee, yet he never talked about those war years.  I just don't know about those years.

Home again, he found work, as many did, in a factory and worked as much as he could to support a wife and five years after their marriage, one son, then another.

I'm told when I would cry (and he had been out with cousins and friends) more than once he climbed into my crib and laid with me... I can only imagine.  When I had colic he and my Mom would get in the car nightly and drive around till I fell asleep.

I remember when Daddy and Mom came home with Brother Mike.  Daddy walked in the side door holding my little brother so very careful, his quiet smile so big, so proud he had two boys.  He had a gold tooth back then, said he got it while he was in the Navy.  It showed through when he grinned.  I wanted a gold tooth back then.

When I was 8, his life changed as he walked a church aisle, accepted Jesus as Lord and quietly served his God.  A few months later I followed his path down that same aisle.  In March of 1963, Daddy and I stepped into a chilly baptistry together. I was baptized first, then Daddy was baptized.  Oh my it was cold!  (Don't forget Baptists immerse completely... and the water heater was new and not connected yet on that cold March Sunday)

One by one, cousin, sister, old friends and family followed Daddy down that aisle.  Not because he was an evangelist, preacher or prophet.  He never proselytized.  He just lived a quiet life, a life changed to make him a better man.  He was happy and content.  They saw how he lived and, like me, I reckon they wanted some of what he found.

When Brother Mike and I had kids our quiet Daddy changed again.  For two ornery sons he often was stern.  He could just look at us and we would settle down.  But when the grand-babies  took hold of Pappy he was sweet and gentle.  He walked and rocked them in his arms, sang to them, looked deep into their souls and loved them as only a Grandpa can.

My Kelly would sit with him in his recliner and together them would watch cartoons for hours.  She claimed he loved watching the Smurfs... yet I remember the crossword book in his hands each time they sat watching cartoons.

I can still see them together, Pappy and Kelly watching cartoons, Pooh Bear safe in her arms.

Then cancer took him in just 41 days.  Oh my, just not enough time to say all I wanted to say.  Daddy never talked much, wasn't much on verbal expressions of love.  He lived a quiet life.  Most times through my life when I would say, "I love you Daddy", he would say, "Same here".  That was always enough, we knew he just found it hard to express himself like that.

Instead he worked hard, lived that quiet life, provided for us, quietly loved us, showed us how to live.

Yet in those 41 days, every time we said "I love you" he would say "I love you too".  As he hurt, as he suffered he told us each time that he loved us.  What a great man he was, what a great Daddy.

Today I celebrate the quiet, exemplary life of Jimmie Hollen, born 12/17/1924, died 5/15/2004.





 Stephen Hollen is an award winning storyteller, humorist and Mark Twain Impersonator living in Beavercreek, Ohio.  He performs and tells stories in Ohio, Kentucky, Indiana, Tennessee, West Virginia, Michigan and throughout the USA. 



Our last Christmas with Daddy

Lessons Learned on the Cabin Porch

Lesson One: The Purpose of a Porch

This is a lament for the loss of the front porch.  Not that they are no longer built, but that they are no longer used.  Folks build decks or patios these days.  Some might add on a front porch, or pretend with a "stoop".  Folks huddle inside to keep warm in the winter and air conditioned cool in the summer, forgetting the multiple benefits of the front porch.

The front porch, in the days of glory for all front porches, was the shaded spot to relax after supper, to sip coffee on Sunday with the Preacher (and his wife!), to watch folks go by and discuss the goin's on around the area.

It might have sounded something like this; "Well, I swan, here comes Homer Wagers in his new truck.  ain't new, 'course.  I heard Homer went to the bank an' got a loan for that truck.  Law-zee, can you imagine?  Gettin' into debt an' owin' the bank for somethin' such as a truck.  Next thing you know they will come an' take his truck an' his house an' where will Emmerline an' his none youngin's go?  Probably end up in Ohio or even worse, Michigan workin' in them factories, don't ya know."

(As the truck pulls up and stops) Well, howdy Homer, Emmerline.  We didn't know that was you drivin' along in that fine fancy truck!  It cain't be more than two years old!  What? four years old?  I swan, it don't look it.  Been taken good care of, it has.

Y'all hear 'bout Charlie Clark?  He 'bout got et up by a groundhog he pulled out of its hole.  He needs to quit that silliness.  Gropin' for groundhogs.  That is plumb nonsense.  Gropin' for catfish is one thing, groundhogs is another.

Y'all come on up and sit a spell.  No?  Well, drive that new truck back when you can visit longer"

(As the truck with Homer and Emmerline drives off) "Did you think they was actin' uppity?  Give a hillbilly a new truck an' he thinks he is the king of the hills.  Hmmph.  I knew him when he was a stealin' chickens to feed his family."





 Stephen Hollen is an award winning storyteller, humorist and Mark Twain Impersonator living in Beavercreek, Ohio.  He performs and tells stories in Ohio, Kentucky, Indiana, Tennessee, West Virginia, Michigan and throughout the USA. 

Bad News from Down Home

Dear Cousins,
This has been a hard winter on me and many of my family... It could be worse though. It was for my Cousin Junebug - no relation to my Cousin Peanut who is a Chappell.  Junebug is a Gilbert.

Junebug pretty much lost everything during this past winter back down in my hometown of Beloved.

Here's how it is, and I ain't tellin' tales 'cause it was all reported by Myrtle Shoop already in the Manchester Enterprise.

You see, Junebug had done got involved and run off with an exotic dancer named Sweet Tea.  That were not a stage name, it was for real her name.  Her brother we call J.J. Burns, his real name was Jelly Jar Burns and hers was Sweet Tea Burns.Jelly Jar is no name for a serious Nascar pit crew boss.

Their Mama and Daddy was just not too creative when they started namin' babies.  After they had their first three- the third one is named Bud L. Burns (middle name Lite), someone bought them a second hand book of baby names at the Jot 'Em Down store and the rest of the youngin's are named normal names.

That Sweet Tea went to ruin early on dancin' an' all.  She was caught doin' the Cha Cha, Mambo and even the Samba behind the barn over to the Burns place.  'Fore long it led to her doin the fandango right in the basement of Booger Holler Holiness Church.  It were a real scandal down home.

Well, Junebug got tied up with her an' her dancin' ways an' they went to Jellico Tennessee an' got hitched.  They tried to settle down, bought a 12 by 60 foot mobile home an' put it smack dab on one of the end lots over to the Blessed Trailer Park, run by Homer Lee and Esther May Blessed.  Now, Homer and Esther May are Methodists an' don't take too much truck with the Holiness folks an' didn't mind if an exotic dancer took up housekeepin' in their trailer park.It was good for the bachelor trailer rentin' business.

I didn't mention that Sweet Tea was seven foot tall.  Junebug is a big ol' boy, near six foot six and as strong as an ox.  She saw him swingin' a log one day an' knew he was the man for her.  She did all she could to get his attention durin' her day job at the Henny Penny.  The Henny Penny is the local chicken restaurant where they serve broasted chicken an' biscuits so light they have to tie a string to them an hook the other end to a drumstick just to keep them biscuits from floatin' away.

I have to say, any good honest mountain boy would fall head over heels for a seven foot red headed, freckled mountain gal with big ol' blue eyes if she came toward him on roller skates, short shorts (2 inches above the knees!!) with a big ol' platter of broasted chicken, a stack of biscuits floatin' overhead an' a mason jar plumb full of sweet tea!

Many a mountain boy has been lured into a marriage proposal with just such a scenario!  It runs only second to placin' a bear trap on the path to Percival Poovey's still on a Friday night after payday over to the mine.

Junebug took his food, had a big ol' swig of sweet tea out of that there Mason Jar an' blurted out, "Man, I love Sweet Tea" .  He grinned a dopey grin, looked around, picked up a broasted chicken leg an' commenced to eatin' every morsel of that leg in one bite!

Sweet Tea Burns decided to take advantage of what Junebug said and ran over to Brother Woodrow Budder, the preacher over to Booger Holler Holiness Church who was sittin' in the next car over with my cousin, Sister Hazel Nutt Budder.

Sweet Tea hollered, "Y'all hear that?  Junebug Gilbert has done professed his love for me.  Them is marryin' words if ever I did hear them!"  Well folks did hear Junebug when he hollered, sure enough, him havin' a good set of lungs an' all.

In the ensuing hubub, Junebug just said, "What?" over an' over again.

Junebug's Daddy an Sweet Tea's Daddy showed up right quick (havin' been called by Sweet Tea herself) an' rather than start a feud between the Burns an' the Gilberts, Junebug's Daddy got Brother Woodrow Budder to marry them on the spot.

It was a festive occasion, one of the waitresses dug around in the Christmas decorations an found a tree skirt they wrapped around Sweet Tea's waist, some poinsettias for a bouquet and a dab of white nettin' for a veil.  Everybody got out of their cars an' the folks eatin' inside came out under the awning to be a part of the wonderful hitchin'.

Myrtle Shoop had been havin' a mixed gizzard an' liver combo inside with ladies from her church an' was able to report in the Manchester Enterprise, as mentioned earlier.

It weren't such a bad deal for Junebug in some ways, Sweet Tea is an awful pretty gal.  Things started goin' south when we had that bad ice storm about middle of January.

Sweet Tea had talked Junebug to puttin' up one of them dance poles in the livin' room of their 12x60 foot mobile home an' she practiced every day on it, hopin' to move from exotic dances like the Samba to that there pole dancin' she had heard about.

She wore work gloves an' overalls as she practiced. Junebug had made that there pole out of good seasoned hickory wood, but hadn't sanded it too good.  Sweet Tea didn't want no splinters, you see.

Now here is the problem... a seven foot gal swingin' round a pole ain't no big deal, unless she is doin' it in a 12x60 foot mobile home that ain't been tied down yet.  Homer Lee Blessed  had it on the "to do" list, but Esther May had just not got to it yet.

The ice storm had slicked the whole holler up real slick down where the Blessed Trailer Park is.  When Sweet Tea commenced to swingin' on that pole, the whole trailer started slippin' round on the ice.  The more she swung, the more it slipped.  She didn't notice till it was right on the edge of a seventy foot ravine.  She looked out the window at the end of the trailer an' screamed, swung off the pole and ran for the door.

That last swing was all it took.  That brand new 12x60 foot mobile home went a careenin' off that cliff and into the ravine.  It slipped slow like, sorta like a slow motion movie or some such thing.  Just before it crashed over, the V shaped tongue of the trailer - you know, the part they pull it with, got hung on some big ol' roots from a gigantic oak tree.  It hung up as it was goin' over and hung vertically, the end just 10 feet from the bottom.

There it hangs to this very day.  No one has figured out how to pull 'er up an' put it back in place.  Junebug thought they could secure it to the side of the hill an' have a hangin' condominium, just put in some floors sideways an' all, but Sweet Tea was havin' none of that.

When your wife is seven foot tall, a feller pretty much does what she says, even if you are six foot six!

They are livin' temporary like over the Henny Penny, but that most likely will come to an end.  Sweet Tea has done corrupted Junebug and they have been makin' quite a racket in the evenin's as Sweet Tea is tryin' to teach Junebug to do that paso-doble exotic dance.

It is the shame of the whole town of Beloved.  Like I said, I thought my winter was bad as I approached the double nickle milestone, then I realized it could be worse... I could be married to Sweet Tea instead of Oh My Darlin'.

Cousin Stephen

Written just before my 55th birthday in 2008 (copyrighted by Stephen Hollen, of course)





 Stephen Hollen is an award winning storyteller, humorist and Mark Twain Impersonator living in Beavercreek, Ohio.  He performs and tells stories in Ohio, Kentucky, Indiana, Tennessee, West Virginia, Michigan and throughout the USA.